Let the games begin
by Tomorrows Dust
Summary: In which Dumbledore is stupidly unexpecting and Harry has an evil streak a mile wide. The icing on the cake is solely made out of sarcasm, read and laugh. Or shake your head in an exasperated manner


Let the games begin...

By Tomorrows Dust

In which Dumbledore is stupidly unexpecting and Harry has an evil streak a mile wide. The icing on the cake is solely made out of sarcasm, read and laugh.

Disclaimer: I so own Harry Potter. (this is obviously where the sarcasm starts)

Completely different from what I've posted so far, but it's so me that I just couldn't shut it away any longer without risking a permanent stay in a mental institution. In a way, sarcasm is like diarea, I just can't keep it in.

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_In which our hero's bravery shall be put to the test. _

Harry was having a very bad day. In fact, had he known how bad it was going to be exactly, he would likely have made an art out of hiding himself away in his cupboard and making a great effort of will to pretend that he didn't exist.

Not that he really believed that would've saved him. These freaks with their own little dresscode were nothing if not persistent.

Harry gleefully mused on their clothing for a moment as he sat perched behind the door with a bucket of ice-cold water in his hands, ready to throw it at anyone unlucky enough to be ringing the bell next. He was getting quite fed up with these idiots.

The way these people dressed was too strange to be true. It was both a crime against fashion and a terrible eyesore, all in one. 'And that takes talent,' Harry thought with some kind of horrified awe.

Aunt Petunia had alternated between turning white, green, purple and red at a very rapid pace when a white-bearded man had marched (very self assuredly and stupidly unexpecting) up the driveway and to the door.

First, Harry had thought the whole situation rather amusing. These Jehova's Witnesses were getting quite original in their old age, attempting to immitate crossdresser baboons, whatever those may look like.

But most of all, Harry was happy because it was an excuse to play with the hose.

Harry took great delight, with his aunt screaming hysterical and nearly intelligible encouragements in the background, to litterly spray the old man off their property.

He succeeded admirably and he felt he could be very proud of his accomplishments today. He mentally patted himself on the back, put the hose away and was generally feeling very victorious.

Three hours later, Harry wasn't in the mood to celebrate winning a battle with a man that could very well have been chasing dinosaurs in his younger years anymore, because a whole damn platoon of these crazy bastards had turned up.

And they all demanded to speak to Harry. One would think it a perfect moment to go: uh oh, scratch the back of one's head, put on one's puppy-dog eyes to look even more innocent and call the cops to straighten out the mess, perhaps even to hand out some medication to some of the more delusional of the freak-club.

Any other person in Harry's situation might have felt slightly uncomfortable at the knowledge that he was under seige in his own house.

Harry however, was slowly but surely getting amused again.

The people in the garden trampeling Aunt Petunia's flowers were either escapees from some kind of mental institution, or in an even worse case scenario, they belonged to some kind of sect.

With Harry's luck it was probably the last though. Harry had heard some guy in the garden screaming about the end of the world, having to pay more taxes, needing a saviour, having to pay more taxes, and more cock and bull like... no one saw this one coming: having to pay more taxes.

Now Harry was a very smart 11-year old. He was very well aware of the fact that people who claimed the end of the world was arriving somewhere in the near future, were never up to any good. They usually weren't very sane either.

The doorbell was ringing again. The old geezer was back.

'Jeez,' Harry thought, 'that guy is as persevering as a grease-stain in the carpet.'

But, since Harry was terminally optimistic, he decided to give the old codger another chance to get the hell away from him without any wet clothes this time. Harry did keep the cold bucket of water within reach, you never knew when one would need it with all these oddballs around. A lot of trouble could've been avoided if the folks in the Twilight Zone had had cold water at hand, Harry contemplated, and this certainly looked like the Privet Drive equivalent of that damn good show.

Aunt Petunia was making very odd shrieking noises somewhere in the kitchen, but then again, so were Uncle Vernon and Dudly. They were all perched on top of the kitchen table, as if the insanity outside was related to vermin of some kind, and the only way to stay safe was to keep their feet of the floor.

Now that Harry thought about it, with his hand resting on the doorknob and staring at his cowardly family, the folks outside probably were vermin. Nah, perhaps something a bit more like weed, it's not very pretty and it's nearly impossible to destroy. And no matter what, the damn stuff always manages to come back.

As did 'the fossile in rainbowcolours', a.k.a the 'dressed up goat' who was waiting patiently on the porch, Harry thought, filled as he was with admiration for the man's persistence. Hmm, perhaps it wasn't so much admiration as it was gleefull anticipation of being able to chew out an adult without being punished, and maybe even use the hose again.

Harry took a deep breath, not because he needed some courage or whatever inane reason that people normally use to draw in a deep breath before they undertake something daunting, no, Harry took a deep breath because he knew from experience that old people sometimes smelled really bad, and since he didn't know when it would be safe to breath again, he took a little extra air to insure his survival. Harry definitly wasn't stupid.

The boy with perpeptual bed-hair swung open the door with a flourish and smiled widely, painting the picture of a sweet little boy. (This is the point where the audience goes: awwwww and you all stupidly miss the vindinctive curve of the lips that indicates that Harry is up to no good) Even the deformed sheep was fooled.

For a moment, nobody was sure if the temporary blindness was caused by Harry's radiant smile, or the overkill that was Dumbledore's clothes. Nobody dared guess.

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Dumbledore had woken up on the right side of the bed this morning, the plans were made, the sun was shining, due to global warming there was a nice temperature, so all in all, the day looked promising.

After receiving a number of returned pieces of parchment that explained in great detail where the sender could stick all this magical idiocy, with some added cartoons that showed exactly what Harry meant by a 'place where the sun never shines,' Dumbledore graciously decided to pay the poor boy a little visit himself. He was obviously a bit confused right now, but would surely come around as soon as he understood what honour had befallen him by receiving an invitation to Hogwarts. He would be very grateful indeed.

Too bad for him that Harry apparently didn't have the whole 'grateful' thing quite down.

Now you have to understand that a man who has lived at least 160 years, defeated a Dark Lord and always frees time in his schedule to annoy the current one can get a little... arrogant. He was convinced that he would be able to boss a regular 11 year old around, convinced that if he just turned his twinkle to the maximum of twinkliness that everything would fall right into place.

Never in all those years that Dumbledore had graced the face of the earth had he even suspected that someone would actually be brave or stupid enough to try to chase him away by turning the hose on him. And with such force too. He could deal with frustrated and angry people, screaming politicians, hysterical mothers, he could deal with curses, unforgivables even, but damn, cold water, that was something else.

Dumbledore was way out of his league.

He just didn't want to admit it yet.

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Author's notes: well, a bit short, but it's not as if I've got a plot figured out. We'll see where this goes. How'd you like it???? What do you think???? (bounce bounce bounce) I've slept exactly

2.5 hours in three days, and now I'm hyperactive.

The lack of sleep certainly does explain this insane story. I was actually writing another story too where I tell that I was born at exactly the same moment that the universe sneezed. Coincidence, I think not. I must be that unfortunate piece of flying snot that's always present when someone sneezes. It would explain a lot about both my looks and my intelligence, hahaha

Erm, yeah, well, since I don't have any wise things to say that have you instantly meditating on the meaning of life, I might as well shut up.

Please do review, you always make my day when you leave a comment! It means a lot, merry christmas to you all! (I try to get the whole 'hohohhoho' thing down, but I never fail to sound like someone stepped on the cat, sigh)


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